


One Day

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:38:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Very much Combeferre/Enjolras/Courfeyrac after Marius says things he should not. Lots of amis focus. Lots of different things. It rather got away from me. Written for this post on Tumblr:<br/>The les amis shutting up and sitting down when Combeferre, mid argument, rips off his glasses. Everyone knows that when the glasses come off, someone is going to cry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Day

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Tumblr Post Here](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/31226) by lesroisdumonde. 



It was Marius who had taken the worst folly les amis could commit amongst themselves. Of course, Pontmercy was still new to their little gathering, still a Bonapartist who did not truly study the politics he spoke of, and although he could vociferate and debate as well as any of them, his arguments occasionally lacked substance, given that they were borne of heritage and required respect as opposed to the blood, tears and stride for bettered times.

He was growing as a man, growing in his opinions and his confidence, but it was still new to him. Some things were still incredibly new to him.

"And I merely maintain that many of those women could most certainly find better professions! Surely, certainly! I don’t deny that it would be difficult, but if they would only make the attempt, I mean, I am surviving, am I not?" Joly and Bossuet stared at him, and Grantaire put down his bottle, ready to open his mouth and take the boy to pieces, but it was not Grantaire that garnered his next attention.

Combeferre strode across the room, heels clicking loudly and threateningly on the wooden boards, and he removed his spectacles, setting them sharply down on the table. Grantaire’s mouth clicked closed, and he swallowed as he looked  up at the doctor.

Combeferre rolled up his sleeves, revealing an inked icon of a phoenix on the flesh of his upper forearm, before roughly pulling a chair across to sit directly before Pontmercy. His face was contorted into something of a snarl as he faced the boy, and Marius’ lip quivered as he regarded the other man, blinking. 

Marius, of course, did not know what was coming.

"Do you truly believe that is so?" Combeferre’s tone was low, threatening, with an edge of something that made even Enjolras look cautiously up from the map between him and Feuilly. 

"I- well, of course, I-"

"Are there truly so many places here for the working woman? The woman who is starved, dirty, stricken will illness, unable to fix any of those three enough to appear presentable to a work master? A woman who has sold dresses, hair, teeth, all other worldly possessions, leaving her with nothing to sell but herself?"

And Combeferre leaned forwards; Marius was suddenly very stricken with how very intense the other man’s eyes were, something he’d never noticed when they were behind the gold rims of his spectacles.

"Do you truly believe that  _your_  situation, an attractive young man who chooses to be poor, who is educated, well-read, fluent in three languages, and with all his teeth and hair, a pretty if freckled face, is anything like a single  _one_  of those women’s?  ** _Do_  you!?**" And Marius recoiled as if struck when Combeferre yelled, looking desperately around the other amis for help, but none was offered.

"No, sir."

"No, sir." Combeferre agreed, lip curled in obvious disgust. "Consider your words before you spew them forth, would you, Pontmercy?" And then he stood again, kicking the chair aside before  _stalking_  from the room.

Courfeyrac followed after him, and Bahorel took a step forwards, patting Marius’ back. “You will learn, Pontmercy, that pissing off Combeferre is something of a right of passage. You might also want to consider how lucky we all are for our positions, meagre though they may seem in comparison.”

"Those women are who we are fighting for. Them, their children, everyone who suffers as they do." Enjolras said, and he regarded Marius severely, sternly. "Consider your place."

"For now, you are forgiven." Bahorel said, and he poured Marius a drink. "Combeferre will be calm when he comes back, and you will apologize for your ignorance, and for not making use of that clever little brain of ours." He knocked on Marius’ head, and Pontmercy nodded slowly.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t realize-"

"No, you did not." Feuilly agreed quietly. "We’ve all made the same folly, Marius. Just take care not to make those follies to Combeferre. He is truly the fury amongst us, regardless of how sharp Enjolras can get." And he tapped Enjolras’ hand in an affectionate fashion, calming the blond’s immediate affronted stance.

"You think Combeferre’s a terror, you should see Musichetta." Bossuet said, and Joly and Grantaire laughed, looking pointedly to Jehan Prouvaire, who had the good grace to let his cheeks colour and to bow his head slightly, hair hiding his face.

"Do not upset Musichetta." Jehan advised vehemently, and then they were all laughing: even Enjolras smiled, letting out a quiet chuckle.

—-

"Cigarette?" Courfeyrac asked, and Combeferre took one readily, lighting it and taking a heavy drag. His exhalation was slow, and he closed his eyes as he leaned against the back wall of the Musain. "He is a boy. He will grow."

"He is of our years." Combeferre muttered, and Courfeyrac’s response was a snort.

"As if that makes him less of a boy. He will learn."

"He had better."

"Did I not? Did not our fellows, Enjolras, Feuilly, Bossuet, Joly, , Bahorel, Prouvaire? Grantaire was going to correct him before you set to the task."

"This is not a game."

"This is life." Courfeyrac agreed sagely, and he plucked the fag from Combeferre’s fingers, taking a slow drag of his own before passing it back. He blew out rings with the smoke, and Combeferre rolled his eyes at the display. "He will apologize when you go back in."

"I do not want you."

"You will have to: you forgot your spectacles. Can you see?"

"Barely." Courfeyrac chuckled, and Combeferre managed a grin. "I am spared your horrific countenance, at least." 

"Such effrontery!" Courfeyrac scolded, and Combeferre laughed with the other man, leaning against him as Courfeyrac took a step closer. 

"I am made of temerity."

"Pah! You speak of I."

"Of you? A wilting flower."

“ _I_  a wilting flower? Not you, who cannot survive without precious glass showing him the world?” Combeferre laughed at the jibe, and he elbowed Courfeyrac as boys do, receiving an arm around his shoulders in return. 

"You are impertinent."

"I am a beauty among men!" Courfeyrac proclaimed, and Combeferre laughed, cupping the side of his face and pulling him into a quick kiss before pulling back. They were safe enough in the privacy of the alley, and Courfeyrac giggled.

"You are." Combeferre agreed, and now he dropped the cigarette to the floor, extinguishing its butt with a sharp twist of a heavy heel. 

"Tonight," Courfeyrac began, putting his hand on Combeferre’s lower back and leaning close, taking in the scent of tobacco and vanilla on the air as he murmured in the other’s ear. "I will join you and Enjolras in taking your leave, and we three shall take a private symposium together."

"Somehow, I feel your definition of symposia spans too far from the original."

"And yet I believe you shall indulge me." Courfeyrac said cleverly, and Combeferre’s lip twitched.

"Perhaps, if you can convince me thoroughly." The doctor allowed.

"Oh, have no fear, my fellow, I’m certain I can. It gets me all  _bothered_  when you display such untethered rage, and-” Courfeyrac lowered his voice to a scandalous whisper. “Judging by the adjustment of his trousers, our dear chief was similarly affected.”

"You are a fool." Combeferre said as he let Courfeyrac pull him back inside, the centre’s laughter echoing in the hall. 

"I am a delight!"

Marius was standing when Combeferre returned, and he offered the doctor his spectacles with a trembling hand. “Apologies, my friend, I did not think. My education fails me.”

"You will be better." Combeferre promised quietly, taking them back and unfolding them to perch them upon his nose. "Your apology is accepted, but that means little in the scheme of things. Treat the women of this city with respect, Marius. They are neither your toys, nor your objects, and they do not serve to please you."

"Unless they wish to, of course, and  _only_  if they wish to fully.” Courfeyrac added. “A woman’s body is her own with which to do as she verily pleases.”

Combeferre leaned back and caught Courfeyrac’s cheek, laughing as he patted it fondly. “Learn from Courfeyrac. He is a brute of a man, but a respectful one.”

"I am never a brute." Courfeyrac protested, but Bahorel had already tackled him for the title, and both young men were laughing as they wrestled from the table to the ground. Combeferre took a drink with Pontmercy, and when he had finished his glance, he moved across the room, leaning to murmur in Enjolras’ ear.

Feuilly had left now, gone home for much needed rest, and Enjolras was alone at his table. “Courfeyrac tells me my rage had you inflamed with passion.”

"Courfeyrac says many words." Enjolras said distractedly, but then Combeferre’s hands were on his shoulders, clever, doctor’s thumbs pressing against his neck and drawing a short sound from his throat.

"He does. We should silence him tonight, you and I. Thoroughly ravage him."

"Is that so? And what has he done to deserve such attentions?" Enjolras asked lazily, closing his eyes and leaning back into Combeferre’s skilled hands.

"Why, nothing. I merely wish to indulge."

"Him? Or yourself?"

"All three of us. What is life without occasional indulgences?"

"Pure." Combeferre leaned, murmuring against the very shell of the other’s ear, his breath hot against the sensitive skin. 

"Perhaps we should ravage you instead. You are at your purest, I feel, drenched with sweat, trembling and begging for more." Enjolras let out a choked sound, and one of his hands grasped Combeferre’s.

"You are audacious."

"I am learned."

"Courfeyrac first, and then me. And then the both of us shall strike you down in your  _devilish_  tendencies.”

"I only tease."

“ _Only,_  he says.” 

"Will you not be too fatigued?" Enjolras chuckled a little, looking up and catching Combeferre’s eyes.

"When have we ever been too fatigued for you, my good man?" Combeferre laughed.

Marius watched the chief and the guide together, and then glanced to Courfeyrac where he was settled half on top of Jehan, insisting the other man show him the words on the page before him in an exaggerated fashion as Prouvaire laughed. He looked back to Enjolras and Combeferre, noting the difference between the two sets of embraces, and he tilted his head slightly.

"You will not judge them for that proclivity, I would hope." Grantaire said in a low, gruff tone, and Pontmercy turned, blinking at the brunet. "I will turn you onto the street before one of our dear leaders even considers the thought." 

Marius coloured. “I- it is a private matter for them, very Hellenic, and I would never assume to- I mean-“

"Good." Grantaire said primly, and he took a sip from his bottle. "Enjolras finds happiness in little but those two men. We are all  _deviants_  here.” Grantaire said the word in a low hum.

"Are we?"

"Quite. A man may lie with another man, or two men, or another man and a fine woman. He can take many women at once, or indeed, many men, or even be entirely uninterested in taking either in his life time. This is to be neither judged, shunned nor idolized. It is simply the way things are, and have been, and will be."

"You are poetic when you drink."

"Hear me when I am sober, and your ears shall bleed, monsieur." 

"When are you sober?" Grantaire feigned deafness to this last comment, and Pontmercy had the grace not to repeat it. 

"Pontmercy, I am joining Combeferre and Enjolras this evening, do not expect me home until the next day."

“ _D’accord_.” Marius said agreeably, and Courfeyrac patted his shoulder as he passed, following Combeferre and Enjolras from the room. Marius watched them, fingering over his cravat thoughtfully, and he considered his fine woman.

Was she truly his? Was there something wrong with the way he gazed upon her - did he think of her as an  _object_? She was pretty, it was true, but he valued her smiles and her laughter, and wondered after her political opinions now, with an odd sort of fervour that struck his very heart. 

"What are you thinking of, Pontmercy?" It was Prouvaire that asked the question, inquisitive, and Marius regarded him for a moment before he gave his answer.

"A fine lady."

"Treat her well." Bossuet advised, and Joly nodded. 

"Is she your mistress?"

"No, monsieurs. I don’t even know her name."

"You should ask it." Joly advised, and his hand went to Bossuet’s. "When I asked for Musichetta’s, the syllables were a joy to my tongue upon repetition."

"When he asked of her skirts they were not the only thing joyful to his tongue." Bossuet said in such a sage tone that for a moment Marius did not even realize what he’d said, but when he did, he flushed a bright scarlet and spluttered.

Bahorel laughed with Bossuet. “Do not worry, Marius, her tongue holds more luridness than Bossuet’s could ever hope to. You should meet Musichetta: she is a fine mistress.”

"And your fine lady?"

"Finer than any other." Bahorel said smoothly, and he grinned. "Her laugh is what I live for. What of you, Prouvaire?"

Jehan took on a dreamy smile. “I rather think I’m taken to our fellow Feuilly.” 

"He could snap you like a twig if he chose to take to you." Bahorel said, and Jehan’s little smile turned into a happy, contented grin.

"Yes, I do believe he rather could." Marius laughed with the others at this word, and he thought of his blonde angel. One day, he would know her name, and perhaps another, he would introduce her to his friends, to these men, who thought of men and women in a way Marius was growing to understand.

One day. 


End file.
